Hidden Treasure, a Cliff’s Secret (Part 2)
. : Part One : .
Kurt didn’t think twice about rushing over to Berry Manor. Guards surrounded the place, reluctant to let Kurt inside. It took a conversation with the guards who usually met him at the gates for Kurt to be granted access.
“What happened?” he asks, but it’s only after he finds one of Rachel’s maids, Marley, that he gets an answer. She’s a small girl, frail of body. Kurt’s never seen her without her red handmaid’s dress and her yellow apron over her skirt.
“Pirates, sir,” she tells him, looking very upset, hands wringing with distress. “They snatched her while she was sleeping.”
“Pirates?” he repeats, bewildered. “How do you know?”
Marley bites her lip, turning pale. “They left a mark on her bed. There’s a giant ‘G’ ripped into her mattress and sheets. The officers say it’s a mark of Pirate Antonio Gaspar and Gaspar’s Bandits.”
“Gaspar’s Bandits?” Kurt frowns, recognizing the name.
Pirates in the Caribbean are no new thing. Gaspar’s Bandits are notorious, and there’s only one other name in piracy that Kurt knows better than him.
“Sir, if I may, I have some things to attend to,” Marley says, interrupting him.
“Oh, of course, of course,” he says. “Thank you for telling me what you know, Marley. Am I all right to go up to Rachel’s room?”
Marley nods. “Yes, I think the officers are done looking there now.”
Kurt makes his way up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. The floor is empty save for another maid in another room, and Kurt makes his way towards Rachel’s bedroom.
When he enters her room, he gasps.
Her room is an uncharacteristic mess, clothes and belongings scattered everywhere. When Kurt makes his way to her bed, he winces, turning away and biting on his lip.
Her bed is ripped apart, feathers a mess all over it. The most shocking thing however, is the giant ‘G’ made out of scratch marks, scrawled right across the mattress.
Tears begin to well in Kurt’s eyes.
Who would do this? Who would kidnap Rachel?
He sighs, about to leave the room when he catches a glint on the floor out of the corner of his eye.
He tilts his head, eyebrow raising at something hiding underneath a pile of fallen feathers. He brushes the feathers away, jaw dropping when he finds a golden medallion.
Kurt picks up the piece of gold, turning it over in his fingers and studying it carefully. There’s a skull in the centre of the medallion, a glowing sun behind it, and it’s framed by an intricate pattern.
He hears footsteps coming his way, and Kurt tucks the medallion into his vest pocket without thinking twice.
“Leroy!” Kurt says, greeting the man at the door.
“Oh,” Rachel’s father says, “Kurt, it’s you.”
Leroy Berry is a man Kurt’s known for years, even before he befriended Rachel. He often made business trades with his father, asking for weapon advice on the navy’s behalf. He’s a small man, though he looks little like Rachel, save for their short stature and wide lips.
“Yes, sir,” Kurt says. “I heard about Rachel and I had to see it for myself...”
“Yes,” Leroy says, looking devastated. His face crumples, and he brings a hand to his face.
“Oh, Leroy,” Kurt soothes, walking over to rub the man on the back. Leroy may not have approved of Rachel being friends with a blacksmith, but he was never hostile towards Kurt growing up.
“It’ll be alright,” Kurt tries, “they’ll find her and she’ll be back before we know it.”
Leroy sniffs, and Kurt purses his lips. It’s little comfort, he knows. He’s having a hard time believing his own words.
.x.
“Believe me, Gaspar’s Bandits haven’t kidnapped Rachel!” Kurt yells, palm slapping against the table of maps.
He’s supposed to be having a quiet meeting about Rachel’s kidnapping, but instead he’s arguing with the officer in charge of her case. Leroy had graciously invited him to join the meeting with the officers to discuss a plan of action.
Kurt was desperate, however, knowing full well the type of reward Leroy would bestow on anyone who brought his daughter back safely. Kurt had thought of his father at the opportunity, pleading to be allowed into the meeting, and the man had acquiesced, though now he was looking at Kurt like he was beginning to regret it.
“The ‘G’ ripped into her bed and sheets state otherwise, Kurt,” Officer William Schuester says with a sigh. “It’s their trademark, though I am surprised he’s resorting to kidnapping...”
“Exactly!” Kurt says. “Gaspar and his crew can’t have kidnapped Rachel, he doesn’t do that. I think the ‘G’ left behind was meant to throw you off.”
Will sighs.
Kurt brings out the medallion he’d found under Rachel’s bed, the gold shining in the sunlight.
“Look,” he says, holding it up, “this was left under Rachel’s bed. I think it’s a clue to who’s kidnapped her and -”
“Oh, Kurt,” Leroy says. He looks close to losing his patience. “Rachel has many trinkets and jewellery. That probably just got lost under bed without her realizing it.”
Kurt knows that’s not the truth. Growing up, Rachel always showed off her jewellery and new gifts. He knows her collection almost as well as the swords back in the shop.
“Then how could they dock their ship so fast?” Kurt demands. “How could they have slipped into the manor undetected and left so quickly?”
“Kurt,” Will says, looking at him with frustrated and tired eyes, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“But Rachel - !”
Two guards come up behind him to grab at his biceps, and Kurt looks at them both before sneering at Schuester.
“Fine,” he snaps, straightening his clothes. He tucks the medallion back into his vest.
“I’ll find Rachel, with or without your help,” he says before turning on his heel. Behind him he can hear Schuester laughing. He fumes at the sound, beginning to stomp the last of his steps.
When he brushes past the guards he can hear them talking.
“You heard? They say a pirate’s around, One-Eyed Bill...”
“Lies. They would’ve seen the Wandering Nightmare around too...”
Kurt slams the door behind him, sick of hearing about bloody pirates.
.x.
Kurt doesn’t know what he’s doing when he stumbles into Franklin’s Bar in the middle of the day, but he knows he’s angry that he can’t do anything about Rachel’s kidnapping.
He takes a seat at the bar, waving off Franklin for the moment, head ducked.
His friend is gone, he has no idea where to start looking for her, and no one believes him when he says that Gaspar’s Bandits aren’t the one to blame.
He slams his fist on the table, growling through his teeth.
“Bad day?” a voice drawls behind him, and Kurt whips around, finding a man with his head ducked as he carves into a piece of wood. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning against a pillar.
“The worst,” Kurt admits, sliding off his stool. He makes his way towards the man, looking over his shoulder to see that the bar is empty, Franklin himself not even behind the counter.
“What are you doing?” Kurt asks.
“Carving into a piece of wood,” he says as though it were obvious, lifting up the plank, but he doesn’t look up. Kurt huffs, irritated by the man’s rudeness.
“I meant, what are you doing here, at midday in a pub?”
The man says nothing, and Kurt studies him, intrigued. The man has his legs stretched out in front of him, legs crossed, back hunched over his work. He has a thick red coat on, a black hat on his head, and a brown, fingerless glove on one hand. There’s a rapier attached to his belt on one side, a pistol on the other, and a red sash underneath all that. His loose, black trousers are tucked into scuffed, black leather boots. There are several glasses grouped together next to where he sits, which explains why Franklin hasn’t kicked him out yet--he’s a customer.
“Well?” Kurt asks.
The man looks up at him this time, and Kurt’s eyes widen. The stranger has an eye patch, a visible scar running behind it.
He only knows of one man who wears an eye patch with a scar behind his eye.
One-Eyed Bill, captain of the Wandering Dream.
He’s the only pirate Kurt knows of better than Gaspar’s Bandits, his legacy told throughout the lands. His adventures are well known, his terrorizing and decades of piracy even more so. Kurt didn’t grow up with many stories, but One-Eyed Bill’s was one even he was familiar with.
And Kurt’s looking at him right now.
The man smirks, and he stands up quickly, tucking his knife and plank of wood away into in jack before pulling Kurt by the wrist to another room.
“It seems my reputation precedes me yet again,” the man says, shutting the door behind him.
“You-you’re -” Kurt stutters, but he can’t bring himself to say it.
“Yes,” the man says with a smirk, “One-Eyed Bill, but, please, call me Blaine.”
“You’re-you’re here!” Kurt realizes, and he opens his mouth to shriek before the man--Blaine--rushes over to cover his mouth.
“Listen here, I paid off the bartender good money to enjoy some peace and quiet in here and I intend to take it,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt shudders, his breath leaving him in a stutter. “If you yell, I will kill you.”
Kurt gulps, nodding, and Blaine releases him slowly, completely letting go when Kurt doesn’t scream.
Kurt gets a better look at One-Eyed Bill/Blaine, realizing that the pirate is much younger than he looks considering he’d been terrorizing the seas for decades now. Through the light that pours in from the window of the room, he can see that Blaine has creamy-tan skin, poorly taken care of due to years of exposure to sun and salt water, and curls that peek out from underneath his hat. His eye patch is worn, but his good eye is a beautiful hazel, and in the light Kurt can see green flecks in his iris.
“Why-why are you here?” Kurt asks, watching as Blaine takes a seat on top of a barrel in the room.
Blaine shrugs, pulling out his knife and block of wood again.
“Needed some space, some peace and quiet,” he answers, beginning to carve again. “I’m waiting on a friend to bring me a new crew for my ship.”
“New crew?” Kurt repeats, taking a seat on another barrel. “What happened to your old one? Doesn’t One-Eyed Bill have one of the most notorious crews out on sea?”
Blaine jerks his head up to stare at him, nostrils flaring. Kurt stiffens, starting to regret asking.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Blaine snaps, and then begins to stabs at the wood.
A few moments pass before Kurt says, “I’m here because my friend’s been kidnapped.”
Blaine barks out a laugh, looking at him. “Now that’s a strange reason to be at a bar at noon.” He studies Kurt carefully, head tilting. “Friend, huh? A special friend, by chance?”
Kurt can hear the quotation marks around the word “special” and he rolls his eyes. “No,” he denies. “She’s my best friend--we grew up together.”
Blaine nods, humming, before looking down at his work.
“Officers say she’s been kidnapped by Gaspar’s Bandits -” at that, Kurt sees Blaine scowl “- but I don’t think so.”
“Really?” Blaine asks, his voice venomous. “What makes you think that?”
Kurt pulls out the medallion he found under Rachel’s bed.
“Because I found this.”
Blaine looks up, and he drops his knife and block of wood. He rushes over to Kurt, grabbing the medallion out of his hand before he can protest. He begins to pace, examining the gold.
“Where did you get this?” Blaine demanded, looking at Kurt with disbelief in his eyes.
“I-I found it underneath my friend’s bed,” he answers. “I think she--or maybe her captor--left it behind.”
Blaine’s brow furrows, looking down at the medallion again. He shakes his head at it, tucking it into his jacket.
“Hey!” Kurt says, rushing towards him. “That’s mine!”
Blaine looks at him with a brow risen, lips pursing to the side. Kurt attempts to grab for Blaine’s jacket, but Blaine catches his wrist.
“Do you have any idea what that medallion is?” Blaine asks him. Kurt shakes his head, dropping his hand. Blaine hums.
“You say whoever kidnapped your friend left it behind?” Kurt nods. “And you want to go after her?”
Kurt nods again. “The reward would help me a lot,” he explains, sighing. “My father’s sick, and his health’s never been the best. I need the money to take better care of him.”
Blaine considers him for a moment, nodding at his story.
“I can take you to your friend,” Blaine says, and Kurt’s eyes widen.
“What? How?” he demands.
Blaine smirks, and Kurt almost wants to punch the smug look off his face.
“I have my ways, but I promise you, I can take you to your friend.”
Kurt takes a deep breath, considering his offer. The officers don’t believe him, and he’d much rather find Rachel before they do...
He nods, and Blaine takes it as acceptance.
“You have one hour. Meet me at the pier when you’re ready.”
.x.
Kurt rushed through his home, collecting everything he’d need in a large satchel. He grabbed a prized pistol of his as well as a sword he’d made for himself, and writes his father a quick and apologetic letter. He makes their neighbour promise him to keep his father safe and healthy while he’s gone (he trusts Carole, and it certainly doesn’t hurt that she was the nurse that helped him when Burt suffered from his seizure), and before long he makes it to the pier.
When he gets there, Blaine is looking at a compass, tucking it away when he hears Kurt coming towards him.
“You’ve heard of the Wandering Dream, haven’t you...?” he trails off, and Kurt realizes he’d never given the pirate his name.
“Kurt,” he fills in, “Kurt Hummel.” He follows Blaine when he begins to walk, whispering, “And isn’t it called the Wandering Nightmare?”
Blaine barks out a laugh.
He follows Blaine to a large ship, majestic in its design. It’s deep blue, with blood red trims. The sails aren’t open, though Kurt sees they’re a shade of beige. There’s a mermaid sculpture carved at the front of the ship, but what grabs Kurt’s attention is the repairs and black scuff marks that cover the ship.
“Say hello to the Dream, Kurt,” Blaine says, and Kurt trails behind, following Blaine on-board.
When they’re finally on the Wandering Dream Kurt comes face to face with a tall man. He’s wearing a brown vest over a white tunic, and his pants are untucked and chopped mid-calf. He’s pale, cream skin only reddened by the sun, and has an angular face with wide lips, though he’s handsome. His shaggy blonde locks are tied by a band into a ponytail behind his head.
He looks right past Kurt to look at Blaine.
“Who’s this?” he says with a tilt of his head in lieu of a greeting, and Blaine laughs, throwing his head back and walking past, patting his shoulder. Kurt takes his cues from Blaine, ignoring the tall man as he follows his lead.
“It’s good to see you too, Sam,” Blaine chuckles out. “Now, where’s my crew?”
Blaine is stopped by the tall man--Sam--grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.
“I mean it, Blaine,” Sam says, grabbing both of Blaine’s shoulders. He gives Kurt the once-over before turning back to Blaine. “We can’t keep bums on ship; it’s just another mouth to feed.”
Kurt gasps, eyes wide and body vibrating with fury. He pushes Blaine out of Sam’s grip, a finger pointing threateningly at his face.
“I am no bum,” he growls angrily. While one hand is pointing directly at Sam’s nose, his other is reaching for his pistol. “Never call me that again.”
Sam looks shocked, hands up in surrender as his wide eyes cross trying to look at Kurt’s accusing finger.
Kurt only turns away when he feels a hand on his, fingers just out of reach of his gun. Blaine is wearing a grin much too bright for Kurt’s liking, and once again he experiences the desire to punch it off of Blaine’s face.
“Now, now,” Blaine says, looking between Sam and Kurt, “let’s not start fighting. Not quite the best way to make friends now, is it?”
Kurt huffs, glaring at Sam one more time before dropping his hands and stepping away. Blaine beams even wider, stepping in between the two.
“Sam, Kurt Hummel,” he says, gesturing between them. “Kurt, Sam Evans, my first mate. Now that you two are getting along, Sam I need to meet my crew.”
Sam shakes his head, snapping out of his reverie.
“Blaine!” he says angrily. “You didn’t answer me. Why is this -” he chances a glance at Kurt, who narrows his eyes at him, lips twitching into a frown “- Kurt coming with us?”
“I’ve struck a deal, Sam,” Blaine answers plainly, patting at Sam’s shoulder again when he comes to stand next to Sam. “Kurt here’s gonna take us on an adventure.”
Kurt crosses his arms as Sam looks at Blaine dubiously.
“He’s -” Sam says with a jerk of his head “- gonna take us on an adventure?” Blaine nods.
Sam shakes his head, as if he doesn’t understand what’s going on--though, truthfully, neither does Kurt.
Kurt watches as Sam looks down at Blaine before studying him once again. Kurt manages to hide his blush under the scrutiny. He didn’t know that Sam was the first mate, and though Kurt’s still inclined to leave a mark on his face, he doesn’t want to stay on a ship where he’s in bad terms with the Captain’s right hand.
“Fine,” Sam concedes with a huff. He turns towards Blaine and continues, “He’s taking us on an adventure. But where are we going and what’s in it for us, Blaine?”
“Oh, Sam,” Blaine says affectionately, “always in it for something.” When Sam continues to stare him down, Blaine shrugs. “I have good faith that where Kurt is heading we’ll find something for everyone.”
“Then where are we heading, and why does he need to be there?”
“I’m going to rescue a friend,” Kurt says, finally speaking up. “She’s been kidnapped by someone and if I find her I get a reward.”
Sam sighs, a hand coming to his face. “But what’s in it for me?”
“Whoever has her,” Blaine says, “I believe is hiding on an island. Oates’ Island.”
“Oates,” Sam says in disbelief. “Oates as in Tobias ‘Brownbeard’ Oates. Blaine, I thought we were beyond childish fairy tales.”
“Ah,” Blaine agrees in an airy voice, “so was I, until Kurt gave me this.”
He pulls out the medallion, the gold glinting in the sunlight. Kurt notices that in the time they’d been apart, Blaine had hung it on a chain for safekeeping beneath his shirt.
Sam’s eyebrows furrow, eyes wide as he grabs for the medallion. No doubt he’s looking at the engraving, the skull on the sun and the intricate design within it.
“This, this is -”
“I know.”
Sam shakes his head again, expression both astonished and amazed.
“Now,” Blaine says gently, taking back the medallion and tucking it back into his shirt, “my crew, Sam.”
Sam nods once before yelling towards the deck, making his way up the forecastle. Blaine smiles briefly at Kurt before making his own way up, Kurt keeping pace a few feet behind.
The introductions are unsurprisingly brief; it’s a small screw. There are sailors and other crew men, but most surprising of all, a Hispanic woman, who will be their cook, watching their food supplies for the journey.
When Blaine asks, Sam ducks his head and brings a hand to his neck, answering sheepishly, “Santana... persuaded me. But she’s a fantastic cook and has been great on deck so far.”
As if she’d been summoned, Santana speaks up, says, “That’s a lie. I’m here for whatever we’re hunting for. Sam owes me a debt for the crappy night we spent together.”
Even though Kurt nearly had a heart attack when she showed up virtually unannounced next to him, he appreciates the way she doesn’t care how red Sam turns in the face.
“If there’s any treasure, I want it. If there’s adventure, fine,” she says in a stern voice, looking at Blaine as if she’s daring him to defy her. He merely nods, looking appreciative of her tenacity. She smirks, crossing her arms. “I am a great cook though; Trouty Mouth wasn’t lying there.”
The grimace that takes over Sam face is almost worth him calling Kurt a bum. Almost.
Blaine dismisses Sam and Santana, and Kurt watches as the two bicker down the stairs and back onto the main deck. Blaine makes his way towards the table where maps and various parchments are scattered around. He pulls out his compass and places it in the centre of one of the biggest maps.
“So, where are we going exactly?” Kurt asks as Blaine studies the compass (it’s broken, Kurt notices, the arrow spinning in lazy circles) and then the map. Blaine doesn’t reply, bringing up a hand to rub at his chin.
Kurt’s about to turn away and make his way down to the main deck to ask Sam if he could help out in any way when Blaine chuckles softly. Kurt turns towards him to see Blaine looking at an island on the map fondly.
“Of course,” Blaine says to himself. He looks up at Kurt, tucking his compass away while Kurt looks at him incredulously. Blaine points to a small cluster of islands on the map, labelled in messy script ‘Mercys’ Islands’.
Confused, Kurt only looks up at Blaine with one eyebrow arched.
“We’re going to meet an old friend of mine,” Blaine states, “Tia Mercy.”
.x.
It takes a couple of days at sea to reach Mercy’s Islands, but much less time for Kurt to get used to life at sea. He learns quickly how to deal with the crew, and they in turn learn not to mess with him.
He’s appointed as Master Gunner and expects a fight over it, but the crewmember who’d originally been appointed by Sam doesn’t mind at all.
“You probably have a better handle at this stuff than I do anyway,” Mike Chang had said. He’s a tall man with a lithe figure, shaggy black hair capping the top of his head. He wears a loose light blue tunic over brown pants that cut off at the knee, with shoes that looks like they’ve seen better days. He’d explained where all their swords and artillery were, and how it all worked.
It was Kurt’s job now to look after all their weaponry, and he accepted it gratefully, happy to be working on-board with something he was at least familiar with.
As he showed Kurt the artillery, Mike explained why he was on the Dream. He’d been friends with Blaine and Sam for a while: they had busted him out of prison in Singapore and had been helping them out ever since. He’s technically Blaine’s second mate, but he’s happy to fill in other positions when necessary.
“Gunner’s not my favourite job, though,” he admitted with a twitch of the nose. Kurt laughed and thanked Mike for showing him around.
.x.
When they finally reach the islands, the crew splits up as they have to navigate through a narrow river that flows inward to the largest island. The Dream is left anchored at sea while a small party uses the few rowboats they have to sail the river.
Kurt is on a rowboat with Blaine, Sam, and a few other crewmembers, their boat leading the one other boat that accompanies them. Kurt can barely look around because the river narrows into a small rivulet, and surrounding them is a thick forest of trees and shrubbery. They can only just row down the river, having to battle against the forestry, and even sunlight can’t penetrate the thick layers of nature that grows around them. All around them is hues of green, brown, and a hint of blue, shadows and forestry, damp and dark.
Sam and two others other are chopping down branches around them as Kurt studies Blaine looking at his compass. The captain had been looking at it for a while now, pulling it out and tapping it occasionally. When Kurt looks over Blaine’s shoulder to see it for himself, he realizes that he compass still isn’t point North.
Kurt blurts out, “Why do you use a broken compass?”
At the question, Blaine smiles at him, his expression that of one talking down to a child. Kurt doesn’t like it.
“It’s not broken,” Blaine says simply.
“It doesn’t even point North,” Kurt snaps, annoyed with the smug look Blaine’s giving him.
“It doesn’t have to,” is all he replies.
Kurt wants to ask more but they’re interrupted by a soft voice singing in the distance. It’s a woman’s voice, but it’s low and powerful, gentle yet strong. Kurt can’t make out the words she’s singing but he’s enchanted nonetheless. He barely notices Sam and the others, who have stopped chopping and rowing altogether, too mesmerized by the beautiful voice.
“Ah, we’re here,” Blaine murmurs, looking towards the sound of the singing. He looks back to his crew, face annoyed. “And what are you all doing? Sitting there like a bunch of frogs who can’t be damned. Get back at it!”
The others quickly get back to rowing, Sam chopping down branches once again. Kurt snaps out of his reverie, looking ahead and finally seeing a light in the distance.
As they get closer to the source of the light and singing, the forest around them begins to thin and the rivulet opens up, growing wider. Around them now is a circuit of huts and treehouses made out of wood, leaves, and dirt. The inhabitants come out to stop and peer at them, eyes curious and searching. Kurt feels uncomfortable with all the eyes staring at him, but he isn’t too wary of these people. They are clearly natives of the island, but none have made no move to harm them, and he hopes it will stay that way.
They finally reach a large hut made out of wood and earth, part of its floor stretching beyond the land and being held up by a series of poles shooting straight into the water. A bright light comes from within, along with the voice that had been singing for the past several minutes. When Kurt’s boat reaches land, the singing stops.
He and the others follow Blaine out of the rowboat and towards a path that leads to the giant hut. The natives watch them with beady eyes as they make their way towards the stairs to the entry.
Being out at sea and water for so long, Kurt wobbles on his legs, and he’s so intrigued by everything around him that he trips over something. Many around him gasp, and some of the crew become defensive, reaching for their swords when some of the natives come closer.
“Stop that,” Kurt mumbles, and he brings himself up. Sam looks at him with concern and he waves him off. “Just sea-legs, is all.” Sam nods and they continue their way up to the hut.
Kurt meets the gaze of a little girl who had been watching, and he smiles at her, waving. He watches her smile as well, ducking behind the leg of what Kurt assumes is her mom, before making his way up the stairs.
The steps creak with every step they take, but it holds steady. It’s a narrow staircase, only wide enough for one person at a time, so it’s a line of Blaine’s crew making their way up to the door.
When they finally get to the top of the stairs, Blaine doesn’t even knock when the door bursts open.
“Blaine Anderson,” a clear voice says, and Kurt recognizes it as the woman who had been singing earlier.
Kurt is behind Sam, who towers over him since he’s a step higher, and he can’t see who greets Blaine no matter who much he tries to tiptoe and peer over Sam’s shoulder.
“Tia Mercy,” he hears Blaine greet.
“Blaine,” she says, “you know better than to call me that.”
Kurt’s still trying to get a better look around Sam when he hears Blaine chuckle out, “My apologies, Mercedes.”
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